Sweet Insanity II
by Jedi-Master-Nightwing
Summary: Sequel to "Sweet Insanity". AU, post RotS, NOT SLASH. Obi-Wan is depressed, alone, and grief-stricken, with death around every corner. He misses Anakin, the boy he once called brother; but maybe its not too late to tell him that. /READ "SWEET INSANITY I" FIRST


**So, this here is a one-shot sequel to "Sweet Insanity", my other fic. I'd read that first, it's a one-shot also, then come back and read this. Review!**

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**FIVE YEARS AFTER THE JEDI MASSACRE...**

It was a bitterly cold feeling, harsh and menacing. Numbing to both the body and the mind. Lonely.

Obi-Wan Kenobi remained seated in front of the fire, staring blankly into the fire. It was winter outside – and oh, how he hated the winter. But still, there was nothing that he could do to prevent it, so he simply waited inside his cabin for spring to finally come.

He was still surprised with himself – still trying to figure out why he remained living in that little shack on Felucia, even after what had happened with Anakin.

_What happened with Anakin…_ He leaned back in the tiny wooden chair he was on and closed his eyes, his mind going back five years ago, to the winter when he and Anakin had been trapped in that same cabin. He could still remember the bone-chilling tension and the creeping insanity…

Quickly, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

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The winter pressed on, and as the snow piled against the cabin, so did the memories. Obi-Wan was alone, but by now, he was used to the solidarity. He tried keeping himself busy – reading his data-pad, writing in a journal. Anything to try and keep the memories at bay, his mind in its proper place. But he could still hear his own desperate screams, still remember the unbearable silence and the heartbroken emotions. Most of all, he could still remember Anakin, the lost look in his eyes, the hurt expression.

_I failed him_, he wrote out in an old, faded notebook. He found that writing out his emotions, no matter how random and no matter how stupid, helped with the loneliness. _I was his guardian. I was supposed to protect him, help him. Instead, I let him believe I thought he was an animal. I even considered abandoning him, leaving him to die. And then I wasn't able to find him when he ran away._

He had tried – tried so hard to find out where Anakin had gone that day five years ago. But it had been in vain. Anakin had simply…vanished. Disappeared. After an entire year of searching and hoping, he had finally been forced to give up. The Jedi had never tried making contact with him since the exile, so at least Obi-Wan didn't have to worry about them creating a galaxy wide search for Anakin, a fugitive.

The Empire had been overthrown – he had read about it on his data-pad. The New Republic was in place, ruled with the Jedi; but Obi-Wan had no desire to go back. That was a different time, a different life. He didn't belong there anymore.

_I just wonder what happened to him. If he's alive, if he's alright. He did terrible things, but…_

Obi-Wan placed his pen down, and closed his eyes, sighing. His time as Anakin's Master and partner were so long ago, as a _brother_… it was if it had been just a dream, and his solitude was the real, harsh reality.

_But it had to have been real, and he did terrible things, horrible, dreadful things….but that reality must have been real, because I DO care about him…_

"I do," he murmured, shoving the notebook aside and going back to staring at the fire that burned in front of him. A blank stare that was now so common to him. He looked much, _much_ older than he really was – but grief does that to you. It destroys who you were once and replaces you with a living corpse. A shell.

He was so tired of it all – tired with life itself. It was a drag, a hindrance. Obi-Wan could feel his depression growing dangerously stronger, but he didn't know what to do about it. Going to Coruscant and the Jedi was out of the question, and he didn't want to go back into civilization anyway. He was content with being the lonely old hermit that lived in a little shack outside of town, with never any visitors and a past unknown. He was pleasant being Ben – the name he had given himself after deciding that Obi-Wan Kenobi had died in the Jedi purge five years ago. He was a body with no soul.

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_"__I win!" Anakin's voice was filled with triumph and joy as he playfully placed his lightsaber's blade a few inches away from his mentor's neck._

_Obi-Wan grinned at him, shaking his head while laughing. "I let you win."_

_"__Oh, no! Don't try that joke!" Anakin deactivated his weapon and then helped the older Jedi back onto his feet. "I beat you, fair and square."_

_Obi-Wan responded with a chuckle. Sparring was a favorite pass-time for the two men. After over a decade of training together, and thousands of sparring sessions, they knew each other's movements as their own. They were more intimate then lovers, closer than friends. It was a bond only blood-brothers could understand; and despite their not being related, they had managed to achieve that special tie thanks to the will of the Force…_

Obi-Wan Kenobi opened his eyes, shattering the dream/memory into a million pieces. He lay in his bed awake the rest of the night, listening to the blizzard, feeling the urge to cry, but having no tears left in him to shed.

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He knelt down before the furnace, banging on it with a wrench. _Blast this thing!_ He had installed a heater in the cabin three years ago, rarely using it to preserve fuel. But it was exceptionally cold outside, and he'd appreciate the extra warmth the furnace could bring.

Overly-frustrated, exasperated, about ready to just break down and scream to the high heavens, Obi-Wan used the rest of his ebbing strength and flung the wrench as hard as he could at the rusty metal gadget. It hit something, _something_ that Obi-Wan couldn't see, but there was a loud _HISS_! and then the sound of something crashing within. That was when he saw the first red glow of the coals and flames, and he managed a half-smile at himself.

And then there was the deafening explosion, the sudden blindness that overtook him as he felt fire scorch and burn his body, rolling up and down his cloak. There was a scream – and Obi-Wan could only assume it was his, and he rolled along the ground, snuffing out most of the flames. His body was in agony, his mind buzzing and oblivious to the world. He panicked, forcing his eyes open and only seeing flames, flames everywhere. Burning and devouring the wooden cabin. This was how he was going to die, alone in this hellish cabin, with only the dark memories and ghosts to laugh and mock him. He had failed in life, failed as a Jedi… who knew where he would end up after his grimly demise? The fear that paralyzed him started playing tricks on his mind – he could hear voices, the voices of demons and jeering spirits beckoning him, calling his name, ready to just drag him to hell…

"MOVE!"

The clear, commanding voice shook him even more than the haunted, ghostly calls of the demons; and when he suddenly felt arms – human arms – wrap around his torso and heave him upright, he was too stunned to speak or cry out from the pain or struggle to release himself from this stranger's grip. He'd never been fond of physical touch as a Jedi, and his five years as a depressed, grieving hermit and shattered whatever he had learned on that certain skill, everything he had learned from Anakin…

He felt himself be dragged past burning beams and collapsing walls. The heat was unbearable, and he couldn't suppress the moan that was ripped from his throat.

And then in an instant, the heat was gone and replaced by a bitter, frosty cold that enveloped him in a cloud. Snow. He was in a snowbank, and as he cracked open his eyes, he spotted the face of a man about his age, staring at him with emerald eyes and stray locks of blondish hair brushing his cheeks.

"Hey, man, are you awake?" His voice was clear, so clear – Obi-Wan hadn't heard voices in so long, except the ones whispering inside his head. He didn't know how to answer, what to say; but it seemed the other man didn't expect him to, because he turned away without an answer and started calling out to someone. "Jack, bring the speeder over here, and clear a space in the back! He's hurt!"

Somewhere nearby, an engine roared to life and soon stopped just in Obi-Wan peripheral vision. It was a four person speeder, beat up and worn out, with a trailer attached to the back, loaded with firewood. He could make out two figures there, but his mind was buzzing with way too much adrenaline, and he had stopped using the Force long ago. He couldn't sense if these men were trustworthy or not; but when he thought about it, he didn't really care. If they were remaining Imperials, the only reason they had saved him from the fire was to torture him. But Obi-Wan, as he tried to move his arm and found nothing but fiery pain, doubted that would work anyway. Because his mind was just so heavy and tired, and his body ached fiercely, and each breath he took was winded and wheezy. Somewhere in his chest, his already strained heart continued to beat with only a miracle to keep it going. And he knew for a fact that miracles never lasted long.

So he didn't protest when another, dark-skinned man – Jack – helped the blonde one lift him. Didn't move or say a word, not even a groan, as he was gently laid on top of a tarp, arranged on the wood pile in the most careful way. The third figure – a spritely boy enveloped in a jacket much too large for him – slowly crept over to him, and Obi-Wan didn't even glance in his direction. His eyes were open, but he made no move to observe his surroundings. He simply stared up at the sky, pitch black except for the strange red glow the flaming cabin emanated. He felt the darkness enter his mind, and just before unconsciousness took him, he caught the quickly glimpse of a hauntingly blue pair of eyes stare at him, the boy outstretching a hand as if to touch him – fingers ghosting over his temple with the lightest touch.

And then everything went black.

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Awakening brought paralyzing pain, ruthless agony, and a severe depression Obi-Wan knew he wouldn't be able to shake off this time. Because his mind was tired, his lungs decided it was such a strain to breathe, and his heart's beating sounding like an old drum. A few more hits and it would fall apart.

The bed that Samuel – the blonde one – had laid him on was merely a cot with furs for a sheet and a thin blanket. The man had apologized over and over again, worried over the fact that he had no first aid he could offer, and the paths into the nearest town were blocked. There was no medical care coming to treat his burns, so Obi-Wan simply closed up and accepted the fact that death's embrace was awaiting him with open arms.

The first day was spent slowly and numbly. Samuel spread handcrafted bandages over his wounds, then laid on a layer of snow. It helped somewhat. Obi-Wan couldn't help hissing with each physical touch that laid itself on his broken, charred skin; and Samuel chose rambling as a sort of distraction.

"Me and my brother were passing through with our load of fuel to get us through the rest of winter," he had said as he unraveled a new roll of bandages. "We saw the explosion, and came right over. Do you know how lucky you are? That furnace you had in there might've blown up in your face much sooner – it's a miracle it lasted that long."

Miracles. Obi-Wan was beginning to think they were equal to _curse_.

Obi-Wan had managed a few words of "Thanks for your help", his voice sounding alien from being unused in so long. It sounded foreign even to his own ears. He hated it, so he kept silent. Except for once.

"Who was the other boy with you?" He'd seen and heard a lot about Jack, but hadn't seen the blue-eyed one since he fell unconscious.

Samuel thought about it for a moment before answering. "He was a boy Jack and I found in the woods quite some time ago. Half-dead, took everything we had to keep him alive. And even then, his health is failing him." A dimness, something Obi-Wan believed was sadness, fell over the man's eyes. "I don't… I don't think he's going to live through the winter. He's too weak, too thin. We only brought him with us yesterday because Jack didn't want to leave him vulnerable like that, alone without any source of protection. Last year we did, and a freakin' rancor nearly brought hell down. That was when he started getting sick a lot." He seemed to get lost in thought for a few seconds before going on. "He's so… exposed. He's sick again, and it looks like a gust of wind will just knock him down permanently. And he's mute, so we never even learned his name."

And the word 'mute' brought so many suggestions and accusations and so much _guilt_ that Obi-Wan felt the word tilt and spin, twirling him around on an insane roller coaster before finally dropping him into this endless abyss, where unconsciousness greeted with a mocking smile.

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He's dying.

He can feel it with every beat of his fading heart, every breath he forces his lungs to suck in. Every nerve is on fire, but the flames are slowly changing to smoldering embers. His muscles no longer obey any of his mental commands, the burns having gone through nerves and burnt away tissue. He lays paralyzed on the fur-laden cot, and he slowly opened his eyes, already exhausted from such a trivial use of strength. He stares straight up at the ceiling, not bothering to look around to see if anyone is around. He's already accepted his demise, and simply waits patiently for the Force to accept him – _if _ it'll accept him. He was no longer a Jedi, no longer worthy of life itself. What could he possibly do to redeem himself now?

Best to not think about it, and wait for the demons to start calling again.

And as he's straining his ears (which are overly sensitive from being in human contact for the first time in so long) he picks up the sound of breathing. And that stiffens him. Because he is so obviously awake, and Samuel or Jack would've spoken to him by now. He hears breathing, but no other sound or voice of any kind, breaths sounding a bit too harsh and forced for a healthy being.

He doesn't know if he should turn and look. Samuel's words fill his mind of the 'sick, slowly dying mute boy he found in the woods'. Should he look? Does he dare hope?

Hope. Does that mean he _wants_ to see Anakin again?

Even if it brings back every hair-ripping memory, each agonizing shame, heartbreaking emotion?

He turns his head _just a tiny bit_, biting on his lower lip, and he hears the breathing stop, and hears a body stiffen.

_Just do it. Just look. Just do it_.

He turns his head.

And his own stormy, gray eyes collide with irises the bright blue of Nubian skies, still burning with intensity despite the heavy, glazed look that has settled upon them. Brown/blonde bangs brush a much too pale face, and skinny, thin arms are wrapped around knees brought up to his chest. Scars mar the flesh visible near the neck, and Obi-Wan immediately sees the most familiar marking above the boy's right eye.

He feels his heart begin to thump with a bit more life, pushed by adrenaline. Obi-Wan stares, and the boy stares back, not moving or speaking. He holds the same dead, zombie-like look that Obi-Wan clearly remembers facing in his cabin five years ago.

Samuel was not exaggerating when he said Anakin was sick and dying. The pale, ashen pallor of his skin, the dark circles under his eye, the bone prominently showing where it should not from malnutrition. The boy is more ghost than man right now, and Obi-Wan feels anger, rage, hurt, desperation, and a new level of grief.

If memories of his friendship with this ghost, his brotherly bond, had been hard five years ago, now it was nothing more than the tiniest spark of recollection in the back of his mind. A quick flash in his dream that tells him of hours spent sparring in the Temple gardens, of laughter and bantering; it always fades away as soon as he awakens, so he cannot find anything in this young man except heartache and suffering.

Obi-Wan was dying, and these were his last few hours; and all of a sudden, he feels that Anakin knows this, because maybe, just maybe, he sees something in the zombie eyed stare he holds. Maybe, just maybe, he can pick out another sense… could it be longing? Longing to do something, say something, to his old mentor before he dies? Obi-Wan's not sure if he wants that, so he leaves the thought behind. Instead, he feels the heat blister his chest from the inside, and a moan escapes.

And then, in a blink, Anakin is suddenly right there, right at his bedside, right beside him, but still keeping his distance. He doesn't make eye contact, but rather looks at older man with unreadable features. This close up, Obi-Wan can see Anakin is slightly trembling, fingers shaking, veins visible beneath too-thin skin. Obi-Wan is sure he doesn't look any better, and though he doesn't know how long Anakin has left, he is sure that he will die tonight. And now, he doesn't want to remain silent forever. If he's to go to hell for failing this boy, he must say his piece now.

But he has lost his voice, much to his chagrin, and he cannot speak, though he is losing time. He feels moisture reach his eyes, and he shuts them tight. He cannot speak, he has no way of accessing the Force in his condition. He shall lay here and die here, no longer alone, but now knowing Anakin is dying as well, and will never know that

_I don't hate you, Anakin. I know our bond has shattered; but I could never hate you. I just couldn't…_

He remembers an old yellowed note left in an empty cabin, and guessing one or two tears have rolled down his face now.

_You were my brother, Anakin. I love you; and I think maybe I still do. Even after all you've done. I miss you, Anakin._ He missed the old Anakin, the one who irritated him beyond logic yet still enchanted him with a way only a Skywalker could. _Force, I miss you_.

"I miss you."

For a moment, Obi-Wan thinks that maybe it was his mouth that formed the words; but then his heart skips a beat, and he turns to see Anakin has rested his head and arms on the side of the bed, not near enough for him to touch, but still close. He can only see the tangled mop of golden hair, but Obi-Wan can tell even through tear-blurred eyes that it is Anakin speaking. Voice just like his, hoarse and strained from misuse, but still speaking in a barely audible whisper. And it's not words filled with bitterness and fury. They're… sad.

"I miss you. I miss training with you, learning from you. I miss being your apprentice, and being your partner. I miss going on missions with you, I miss laughing with you, exchanging jokes. I miss pulling pranks on you, being pranked _by_ you, bantering…"

Even through the fogginess of his shattering heart, Obi-Wan manages to see Anakin is thinking to himself, and doesn't seem to realize he's voicing his thoughts out loud.

"…I miss protecting you, miss having you protect me. I miss you, I miss you so much. I miss having a bond with you, feeling like you were the most important person in the world, miss knowing that y-you cared for me. I miss caring for you, I-I miss…" _I miss being your little brother. I miss loving you, Obi-Wan. I miss loving you and knowing, despite your loyalty to the Jedi, that you loved me too._

Obi-Wan was pretty sure they were both crying now, Anakin seemingly-oblivious he was talking, and Obi-Wan knowing these were the last words he would ever hear. And he needed to do something, do it now, because with each beat of his dying heart the world grew darker and more clouded.

So, for the first time in three days, one his fingers twitched, then twitched again, driven by sheer will and the last reserves Obi-Wan carried. And his hand inched over to the now silent, untouchable boy laying on his bedside. And his fingers ghosted over the mass of golden waves, and Anakin flinched, head shooting up, eyes mistakenly locking onto him. There were tears there, Obi-Wan saw, and grief, regret. The anger was gone, to his shock, replaced by what he could only decipher as a desperate longing.

_I'm going to die, Anakin_, he thought to himself as he touched the side of Anakin's face. _I'm going to die, and… and I know you will too, soon. I-I failed too much, too much. But maybe, just maybe, you can accept my forgiveness. Accept it, and accept my apology too. And maybe you can save yourself. Please, Anakin, please don't… don't end up like me_. Now that the former Knight was this close, he wanted him closer. He wanted to see the nine-year-old boy from Tatooine, and the thirteen-year-old Padawan, and the twenty-year-old Knight before he died.

And Anakin obeyed without hesitation, as he had in the cabin five years ago. He slowly inched himself onto the bed fully, and followed Obi-Wan's feeble hand until he lying side-by-side with the other man. If this had been any other time, if death weren't just around the corner, their first meeting in five years would've been different. Bitter words and angry flashes.

But death was there, and so was Anakin. Not angry and stubborn, but vulnerable and grieving; and afraid. This close, Obi-Wan looked into those blue orbs and saw a growing fear. And a second later, he realized that Anakin was afraid of him dying, even though he seemed to be hanging onto life by the barest thread himself.

Weakly, with the dark corners now swiftly, he suddenly used the last beatings of his heart to throw his arms around the trembling boy, pull him close, and drop his head into the crook of his neck. One last beat, one last breath, and suddenly, his mouth flew open.

"I still love you."

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A waving lea of grass. Water that flowed from purple mountains and splashed into a great pool, the droplets of water that went airborne sailed upwards and became burning stars in the sky, with the sun dancing with the moon above. The breeze was warm, and smelled of flowers and quiet and tranquility.

Obi-Wan sat up, eyes open, expecting fire and flames and demons ready to break him for eternity; instead, he saw a meadow, mountains in the distance, and a forest behind him. A waterfall roared to his right, and he felt…

He felt the Force, a nearly overwhelming beacon of light that gently shimmered and sparkled. And Obi-Wan smiled. Smiled for the first time in five years. He smiled, and then he laughed. Because everything, everything had just left him, leaving him feeling… happy. He was _happy_. He laughed again, and looked down. Soft, gentle brown ropes were draped over his body, similar to his old Jedi tunic. And running a hand through his hair, he fingered copper strands without a hint of gray, his beard trimmed nicely and smoothly. He felt like a freakin' angel at the moment, and swung his arms out, spinning around. He felt the breeze join in with his movements, and he laughed. A full, rich laugh, no hint of strain or soreness. He felt young. He felt like Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He felt alive again.

And that's when he saw it. The small movement near the waterfall. He stopped spinning, and stared in awe, jaw dropping, eyes widening.

Dressed in robes identical to his own, hair combed and parted. The light back in those blue eyes. Anakin looked twenty-three again; but there were no scars, no lines from the war, no prosthetic hand. He looked how he should've been – a boy with bright blue eyes, golden hair, and the Force around him was… it flowed _through _him. Light and _good_.

And the boy stood there, almost shyly, staring at Obi-Wan with a smile. A real smile. And the fact that Anakin was there with him made Obi-Wan's heart flutter; but he wasn't sad. Or angry. Or regretful.

No, he wasn't. So he ran, ran straight ahead. And Anakin took a few steps forward, grinning now, and when they crashed into each other, they fell to the ground, into a bed of grass.

Obi-Wan held him in his arms, and Anakin clung to him without hesitation. And he smiled, tears wetting his eyes, and he looked up into the vast sky, and laughed. _Thank you_. He eased into the embrace, and he sighed in relief. "I love you, little brother."

Anakin didn't stiffen, didn't jerk away. No, Anakin relaxed even more; and then he spoke, a beautiful voice filled with joy and ecstasy and _innocence_.

"I love you too."

*end*


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